


Of Light and Shadows

by Enailaim (ChristineNighting)



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, Warcraft III, World of Warcraft
Genre: Betrayer, Black Temple, Gen, Multi, starts canon becomes AU, the Burning Crusade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2556128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristineNighting/pseuds/Enailaim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Among the Blood Elves lead by Kael'thas Sunstrider to Outland, the spirited Emalia finds herself amidst a web of lies and secrecy, where all is not what it seems. More notable, perhaps, is the interest the Betrayer Illidan Stormrage has shown in her after having seen her in battle. Emalia's time and experience in the Black Temple will set forth a string of events that will not only affect the rest of her life to come, but also the fate of Azeroth as well. She is not prepared.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Light and Shadows

Shadowmoon Valley was unusually cloudy for the night, although the storm had brought terrifying claps of earthshaking thunder followed closely by green flashes of lightning that tore up the ground where they struck.

Only demons and the fel denizens dared to roam the valley, feeling unstoppable on such a night. Their prey was likely hiding in the ground, or in their homes, waiting for the storm to pass. Those who didn’t would be killed as their homes were pillaged by hordes of demons using their vulnerability against them.

One individual, however, was not dissuaded by the storm or the masses of wandering demons. He hunted in the open with a fearless resolve, and was partially camouflaged in his own right. Massive bat-like wings protruded from his back, and what had once been a lithe figure was transformed into strong, rippling muscles and overly broad shoulders. He seemed well-adapted to this change, even if it did prevent him from wearing a shirt or any other kind of robe or armor. He probably would have looked like any other half-demon night-elf, if it weren’t for the fel-green markings that crossed over his shoulders to his chest and his back – a sufficient reminder of his identity to any demon, as far as he was concerned. It wasn’t that he was egotistical; there was just a part of him that wanted to remind the Legion who they were dealing with.

During this stormy night, Magtheridon was seizing the Temple of Karabor and striking out the last of the remaining Light in Shadowmoon Valley; a significant event to those who followed the Light’s teachings. In the future it would mark an important date in the history of Outland as the last of the Shattering.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed, watched closely, but there was no magical presence that he could detect. That bothered him significantly; he preferred to have the upper hand in encounters, especially after having been on the losing side for so long.

Spreading his wings, the figure glided to a suspended chunk of land, putting him closer to the flashing clouds than he would have liked but also providing him with an aerial view of the assault on the Temple. There was little he could do for the denizens at the moment, but he would plan his own attack in time.

The feeling on the back of his neck persisted, and he seized his warglaives and prepared for an attack that didn’t come. Instead he watched as an apparition of a person fizzled before him, looking as though they were stepping through a door that was invisible to him. It wasn’t a mage port; that much he knew. He found this magic unusually foreign to him. It smelled arcane, looked arcane, but he knew something about it came from another world, tinged with a long-buried nostalgia that reminded him of the Well of Eternity.

It took several seconds for the individual to fully appear, and even then their form flickered in and out of view, almost as though it were a projection. He was defensive, but also intrigued. In his thousands of years, he hadn’t encountered magic like this, not in any way that wasn’t related to the Legion.

“Hello, Illidan Stormrage.” The individual identified him and turned to face him. It wasn’t a demon, or another minion of the Legion, but a female high elf paladin. Her plate armor was unusually fascinating; although he could see the Holy magic beaming from it, her spaulders and chest piece were lined with Fel iron. Apart from the Legion, only the Fel orcs mined and smelted Fel iron, and as far as Illidan was concerned he knew of no paladins or orders who dabbled in that kind of blacksmithing.

“Who are you? And what do you want?” He felt irritated. Illidan did not like surprises, and he liked them even less when he didn’t have the upper hand. Whoever this was, whatever business she had with him, he sensed her magic was far stronger and more advanced than his.

“We are not yet acquainted, but in time we shall be. I’m here to warn you Illidan.” Her image flickered again, and she looked over her shoulder at an unseen threat. “I don’t have long, but I must prepare you. In fifteen years the Burning Legion will return to Azeroth and you must be the one to stop them.”

Illidan would have raised an eyebrow if he still had any. “Is that so?”

“You are our last hope. Where many have failed before you, you will succeed. You are all that stands between the Legion and annihilation.” She didn’t offer him a chance to respond, but instead stepped forward. “In many universes and many timelines, we failed to stop the Legion. I will not allow this one to fall too, and I cannot do it without you.”

He had his doubts, but those were still the words he never thought he would hear. For years, locked up in the dark, he questioned whether he made the right choice. That was something he would never admit to his brother, or the Warden Maiev who hunted him like a dog.

In his own torment and confusion, Illidan suddenly felt a moment of clarity and acceptance. He had long given up hope for his own salvation, but perhaps there was still a chance for him after all.  
Illidan finally sheathed his warglaives, a deliberate demonstration of his cooperation. “Tell me what I need to know.”

The apparition smiled, but the emotion was quickly replaced by her somber mood. “Fifteen years from now the Legion will open the Tomb of Sargeras once more and use it to cross into our world. They have prepared for a siege of our planet, and only you can stop them from taking Azeroth entirely. I will tell you what you must do, but there’s…one more thing. There’s a price to pay.”

“Always.” 

“You are going to die. It is inevitable, but the real power is what comes after.”

Illidan hadn’t considered what may occur if he should be killed, mostly because the possibility that he might disappear into nothing was too great. He knew of spirits bound to places like sacred grounds or war sites, but he figured Elune had long abandoned him. The idea of being permanently bound to a location was far more depressing than the notion of disintegrating into nothing.

“I have no wish to find out.”

She tipped her head at his dry response and smiled, a look that suggested to Illidan she knew far more than she was letting on.

“You absorbed the Skull of Gul’dan, did you not? You found yourself irreversibly changed by the power into a half-demon. Do you not realize the potential?”

“The potential to become a pawn in the hand of Sargeras? Yes, I had considered it, and I would like to avoid it as much as possible.”

She sighed, looking wearier than her previous stoic manner. “Demons reincarnate with the memories of their past lives intact. You may find the same to be true. Shouldn’t you know this?”

Her sniding irked him. “Yes, I do. I am feeling impatient with this game.”

“Upon death you will be recalled to one of the demonic home worlds that they have conquered. You must be prepared, for your subterfuge will be necessary in gaining information against the Legion. There will be powers interested in returning you to life, both Legion and the Light. You’ve been a double agent before; this will be no different.”

“If you know of me then you know my people named me the Betrayer. What could the Light possibly want with someone like me?” At the word ‘Light’ Illidan waved his hands in a broad motion, referring to the pantheon as a whole. From the Naaru to even the Moon Goddess Elune herself, the Light shared a unified set of beliefs, most of which Illidan figured he probably violated on a daily basis.

“They want someone who is willing to do whatever it will take to stop the Legion. Someone like you. Perhaps your reputation precedes you.”

Illidan had plans to stop the Legion regardless of whether or not he had the help of the Light, so it wasn’t that he was reluctant, just that he had many questions about this mysterious stranger. From what he could sense with his attuned magical ability, she seemed honest. And more than aware that he was attempting to probe into her mind with shadowy magic, for he could sense her own magical barriers fall into place…and she looked annoyed.

She sighed again, “It does not matter. If you continue your plans against the Legion, you will find allies from all corners of the universe. Azeroth will build a resistance, and with information you’ve gathered from the Legion you can lead it.”

“Where do you come from that you speak of events that have not happened? And why go back in time to tell me this?”

“I am…afraid that we will lose. I will do anything to stop them, and I hope to create a reality where we defeat the Legion. If I can give us any leverage over them, I will do it. Perhaps the reality I return to will be unchanged. Perhaps not.”

“I see,” Illidan murmured, still seizing her up and processing the information. It did sound too good to be true, but her knowledge of demons was factual. He knew of few mortals with an understanding of the Burning Legion as he.

Time travel wasn’t impossible, just improbable for most without the aid of a dragon or another outside source. He did not know the nuances of the Light, but now he was very curious indeed. An alliance would suite his desire for information. It was power, after all.

“I will accept your help if you tell me your name.”

Names were very important. For spells, incantations, summoning, curses, and just about any kind of magical use. Not to mention political leverage.

“I am very pleased to hear that. I am Emalia Sunspear, Highlord of the Argent Crusade. I must go, but I will return to see you in time. Farewell, Illidan Stormrage.”

As quickly as she came, she dissolved into a fine arcane mist in front of him, most fascinating indeed. He got not just a name, but a title. To Illidan the Argent Crusade was not unheard of, as they were valiantly fighting back Arthas’ minions in the Eastern Kingdoms, but Illidan was otherwise unfamiliar.

He grunted out of frustration. What a conversation. Illidan still had no idea what it was exactly he was supposed to do, but he figured he’d probably work it out. He was great at plans.  
Illidan turned to the fray that unfolded while he was distracted by that paladin. He had work to get back to. Now, about this Black Temple…


End file.
